


the moon made me think of you

by anabsolution



Category: One Direction (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 21:58:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1873968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anabsolution/pseuds/anabsolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>harry works at a decrepit motel. louis stops by for a stay. set in the 90s.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the moon made me think of you

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii, this is the longest thing i've ever written so i'm really excited/nervous/shitting myself over posting it. i randomly got this idea from my own personal fantasies~ and then just ran with it. thank you to my amazing, amazing beta [naureen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinstereox/). i hope you all like it!

"But in some cases it is really more credible to be carried away by an emotion, however unreasonable, which springs from a great love, than to be unmoved."  
\- Fyodor Dostoevsky, from _The Brothers Karamazov_

 

It’s hot. Like really, really excruciatingly hot. Harry’s lived here for three years and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to just how hot it gets during the summer. He glances over at the thermometer against the doorframe, mentally noting it’s 92 degrees F at 11 AM and only bound to get hotter. The metal portable fan he has aimed directly at his face is on its last legs and he watches as the blades spin around and around. It’s the only thing he had to do this afternoon, really.

The motel he works at, fancily named after the family that opened it 50 years ago, King Motel, operates about 30 miles south of Winslow, Arizona, give or take. At least that’s what Harry’s been told to tell anyone who shows up what Harry wished would be to stay, but usually only for directions. That’s about as much consistent human interaction Harry gets most days because there’s exactly 3 people who ever stay at King Motel. 

There’s Clyde, a biker who travels from Texas to California every few months. Harry’s only held a conversation longer than 2 minutes with him twice, enough to know where he’s always coming from and going to, but Harry’s seen the inside of his wallet and when he noticed photos of two different sets of kids and a woman in each, Harry began suspecting Clyde has two families. 

Then there’s Miss Barbara, an elderly woman who has taken it upon herself to start gardens in remote places, one of which is in the back of this very motel. Miss Barbara is Harry’s favorite person, mostly because she always bakes Harry delicious sweets when she stops by to bring in new plants or take care of the ones already there. Harry doesn’t know if what she’s doing is allowed, but since the owners never come around, Harry sure isn’t going to be the one to stop her.

Lastly, there’s Jonny, Harry’s best friend. And practically only friend, if you don’t count Miss Barbara, if only because of the limited amount of people in this town. Jonny lives a ways outside of town, actually, which makes it hard for him to visit Harry as often as either of them would like, especially since Jonny’s going to technical school now.

Other than that, Harry’s being paid to sit on his ass day after day, patiently waiting for anyone to stay the night. He often wonders how long it’ll be before the motel is forced to shut down. He shudders to think of what he’ll have to do after that.

It’s Sunday, which means Miss Barbara is supposed to come today after church, so Harry goes around back to unlock the gate surrounding the garden. There’s a large, thorny vine growing over the gate, so Harry moves carefully as he opens the gate and steps inside. Just as he moves a few pots around to allow for more room, he sees Miss Barbara’s Eldorado pull in sloppily beside the building. 

“Hi!” he yells, waving. He runs over to her car, opening the door for her.

“Hi, darling. How are you?” she greets, taking Harry’s hand as she gets out of the car. She speaks quickly as she moves around the car. “Will you get those pots in the trunk here for me and just put them away? We’ll work on them next week. I can’t stay today, my godson’s getting married.”

Harry nods, grabbing the bigger clay pot. “Oh, really? Tell him I said congratulations.”

“I will,” she replies, shutting the trunk when Harry has both pots on the ground. “Oh! Almost forgot. Here, I brought some leftovers from our church dinner. I know you said to stop doing that, but baby, you gotta put a little meat on those bones.” She pats his hip gently.

Harry laughs as she hands him an aluminum foil covered plate and kisses his cheek. “Thank you.” He watches as she climbs back inside her car, shouting to heat the food up, idly waving and veers off quickly.

The short interaction causes Harry to feel sullen and lonely, if only due to the fact he excited himself too much for her company. Sadly, moving the pots is Harry’s most eventful action for today.

✧

On Wednesday, a mysterious, clunky van pulls in, disturbed gravel pulling dust up to crowd around it. It looks like it was once blue in whatever former glory it may have had, but now it’s faded out with peeling paint, exposing its greyish body. The engine coughs out exaggeratedly before the driver parks.

Harry leans up in his seat to look out the window. Any other time, Harry would be scared witless seeing a piece of shit scrap of metal like that one pull into his establishment, but once the dust settles, he sees a man hop out of the backseat. A very, very attractive man with brunette hair perfectly styled to look imperfectly unstyled and matching facial hair. He’s wearing tight black jeans and a black Grateful Dead t-shirt, complete with a skull and roses. The man starts doing quick jumping jacks and toe touches and begins stretching his legs, presumably to get out any kinks and knots from a long car ride.

Harry doesn’t notice he’s blowing a bubble with his gum until someone clears their throat and it pops in his face. Harry turns away from the window to see a different boy standing in front of the main desk.

Harry laughs nervously, pulling the gum back into his mouth. “Sorry, sorry. How can I help you?”

The boy flashes a warm smile at Harry, responding in a distinctly Irish accent. “Need a room for t’ree, thanks.”

Harry pulls out a book and opens it up, waving the dust that floats up away. He bites his lip, self-conscious and sort of embarrassed at how utterly desolate this place must look. He looks up, noticing how tired the boy looks, and comes to the conclusion that they must be just really desperate for a place to stay. Harry fills out a few lines in the book and then hands it to the boy. “Here, sign this.”

After he signs his name, which Harry sees is Niall, he pulls out his wallet.

“We don’t take credit cards,” Harry supplies, walking over to the wall where a cabinet of brass keys hangs. “Smoking or non-smoking?”

Niall nods. “Don’t have any, anyway. Smoking, please.” 

They exchange items, the key for the money. Harry holds the wad of cash, quickly flipping through it to make sure it’s the right amount as Niall leaves the main desk. “There’s no air conditioning, by the way.”

Niall laughs heartily. “Waited t’ tell me that after I paid, huh?” Then, he stops in the doorway. “Hey, s’there anyone else on staff?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “No, just me. Why, do you need help with anything?”

“No. Thank you, though.”

“Have a nice stay!” Harry yells as an afterthought once Niall is gone. Harry looks back out the window, not immediately seeing the brunette man from before, but another, skinnier man with jet black coiffed hair and a sleeve of tattoos jump out of the driver’s seat, smoking a cigarette. Harry looks for the other man, but when he notices the man smoking talking to Niall, who points in Harry’s direction and they both glance over at him, he slides back down in his seat to hide, preferring not to look like a total creep. 

✧

That night, as Harry’s just about to close up shop, so to speak, the door swings open, bringing in a burst of welcomed cool wind.

“Hey,” Niall greets, strolling in like he’s been here a thousand times.

Harry looks at him curiously. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

“You wanna come smoke with us?” he asks bluntly, in lieu of an answer to Harry’s question.

Harry chokes back a laugh. “Um, yeah, sure.” He pauses when Niall starts turning around, glancing back at the door that leads into his own personal room. “I’ll be there in a minute. Just have a few things to do first.”

Niall gives him a thumbs up and leaves. Harry quickly runs into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him to get a quick look at himself in the full length mirror. He contemplates taking a quick shower, but eventually decides to just change into a fresh white t-shirt after rubbing on deodorant. He shakes out his hair and decides he looks a little too plain, so he digs through his top dresser drawer and pulls out a light pink silk scarf and wraps it around his head tightly.

Harry’s never been particularly meticulous about his appearance but it’s been a long while since he’s gotten to hang out with new people his own age, so he figures he should be at least presentable. He spritzes on a little cologne as a final touch before leaving, even though it’s going to be drowned out by the smell of their weed, probably.

He knocks on their door, despite the fact he has a masterkey, just to be polite. The curtain in the window pulls back to expose the now familiar face of Niall just before he disappears again to open the door.

“Hi,” Harry says when Niall moves away from the door to let him in. 

The first thing Harry notices in the room is the brunette man is missing again. The other man is sitting at the table, carefully rolling a joint. It looks (and smells) like they’ve been at this for a while.

“This is Zayn,” Niall says, waving a hand towards him. 

Zayn lifts his head. “Hey, y’alright?”

Harry nods. “Hey, yeah, good. Oh, and I’m Harry.”

Zayn grabs a lighter and takes a drag, leaning back in his seat with a lazy smile on his face. Niall walks further into the room and begins digging in a duffel bag, so Harry shuts the door. He stands awkwardly with his hands clasped until Zayn offers him the joint, which he takes, coughing afterwards.

“Been a while,” he clarifies, waving away the smoke and handing it back to Zayn. In truth, it really had been a while since the last time he smoked weed with anyone. Harry doesn’t know anyone around here to get it off of. When Jonny comes around, sometimes he’ll have it, but he hasn’t seen Jonny in weeks, let alone toting around weed for Harry as well.

Niall finishes fishing around in his duffel bag and comes bounding down onto the bed nearest Zayn’s table, glass in hand. He pulls out the second chair for Harry to sit in. 

“So I thought you asked for a room for three?” Harry asks, curious about the third person he knows he saw.

“Yeah, Louis,” Niall responds, packing the weed into his bowl, nodding towards the bathroom. “He’s in the loo.”

And just like clockwork, the bathroom door opens and out comes Louis. He’s still wearing the same clothes as before, but seeing him at this angle, up close, makes him somehow even more attractive to Harry. Smoke billows out of the bathroom, forming a cloud around Louis. It would make a perfect picture, Harry thinks.

“Speak of the devil,” Niall comments.

“Who’s this?” Louis asks, leaning against the wall, hips cocked to the side, running a hand over his scalp. His accent makes Harry miss home.

Harry stands up out of habitual politeness, then sits back down when Louis gives him a curious look, a smirk on his face. “‘M Harry. Styles,” he adds after a brief pause for no particular reason other than Louis’s presence making him feel ten times more self-aware than he was before.

“Well, I’m Louis… Tomlinson,” Louis says, affecting the same pause Harry had. “Ooooh, so you bring that out for him, eh?” Louis laughs when he notices Niall’s bowl, accent suddenly seeming more heavy to Harry. He walks towards the table where Zayn is rolling another joint, presumably for Louis. Louis looks back at Harry, crooking his neck towards Niall. “This fucker doesn’t share with anyone.”

“Oi! I do so. Just not with you arseholes, ‘cause last time, ya broke my best one.” Niall places the pipe in Harry’s hand, aiming it in his mouth and lights it up for him. “There ya go. S’better high than those spliffs.”

Harry sees Zayn roll his eyes as he takes another drag. Louis sits down beside Niall when Zayn hands him his joint, giving a thanks. Harry watches as Louis lifts the joint to his perfectly pink lips, inhaling just so, his Adam’s apple prominent as he leans his neck up. The jut of his jawline is barely visible beneath his fuzzy beard and Harry has a faint desire to know what it would feel like against his thighs. The high hits him quickly.

He blinks blearily to stop himself from staring. There’s an acoustic guitar case in the corner of the room, Harry notices. “Who plays?”

Niall glances where Harry’s looking. “Oh, I do. ‘Cause we’re a band.” He smiles brightly.

“Are you headed to California?”

Louis nods, speaking up, voice laced with thickness. “Yeah, we are.”

Harry looks at the three of them, narrowing his eyes. “You’re English, though. Why didn’t you just go to London?”

Louis crooks his neck at Niall, a knowing smile on his face. “Well, firstly, this one’s not English. He’s Irish--”

“Best country in the world!” Niall shouts, slamming his hands down on the table, startling Zayn. Louis rolls his eyes, shaking his head in what Harry can tell is clear admiration. Niall stands up and reaches inside the mini-fridge behind Harry for a beer. “Want a drink?”

Harry puts a hand up and shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

“Anyway,” Louis says, gaining Harry’s attention once more. “to answer your question, we want to make it big, right? Making it big in the UK is a lot different than making it big in America, you know. We reckon we might as well skip that step if our ultimate goal is America.”

“What kind of music do you play?”

Niall takes a swig of beer. “Mostly rock, but Zayn brings a real soul vibe to it, y’know? He’s got a great voice.”

“Thanks, mate,” Zayn pipes in cheerily, fist-bumping Niall.

“Are you good?” Harry asks bluntly.

The three of them share a fond look with each other. Louis chuckles softly, lips quirking as he looks at Harry. Harry takes a deep breath, trying to shake out the nerves he feels from Louis looking so directly. Jesus. 

“Well, I don’t think we’d make the effort to travel all the way here if we didn’t think so,” is Louis’ reply, still chuckling, a wondrous and curious smile formed on his face. Harry wonders if he thinks Harry is peculiar. Maybe it’s the high, but the thought sends a spike of arousal down his spine.

And it goes like that. The four of them talk easily and smoke up for a couple of hours and eventually Zayn’s passed out on the bed and Niall is sitting beside him, leaning against the bed frame. He has his guitar in hand, strumming idly and singing nonsense and Harry finds his voice soothing, adding to the lull he feels. He’s still sitting in the same chair, knees drawn up to his chest. 

Louis is toeing off his shoes, probably getting ready to pass out as well. Harry watches him as he changes out of his clothes, leaving on nothing but his boxer-briefs, which show off a brilliant ass and Harry nearly chokes. Louis walks over to the sink that’s located just outside the bathroom door and begins brushing his teeth. He has a fit body, tight and firm and tan, and Harry pushes down any thoughts of licking down that chest to the soft, fleshy part of his stomach.

Harry forces a cough and wipes at his mouth for no real reason as he stands up and heads for the door. “Uh, well, thanks for having me, guys, but I’ve really got to get to sleep. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“No problem, mate.” Niall waves a goodbye.

“Yeah, see ya later, Harry,” Louis says through a mouthful of toothpaste just before Harry walks out of the room.

✧

The first thing Harry does when he wakes up is make sure the clunky van is still outside. He chews on his lip before grabbing a piece of gum to calm his nerves. He really shouldn’t be so nervous going to talk to people who invited him to hang out with before, but he is. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous about possible friendships. What if it was just a once-off? What if they decided they didn’t like Harry afterwards? What if they had only needed a new presence because they were tired of each other and didn’t care if it was Harry or not? Maybe that’s why Niall asked if there was anyone else on staff. If that last one were true, maybe they wouldn’t mind seeing Harry some more.

This is what he consoles himself with when he gathers the courage to knock on their motel room door once more. He flattens down his shirt, picking lint off of it and tightens his headscarf. When no one answers, he knocks again, this time eliciting noises behind the thin door: rustling sheets, a loud bang, and a “buggering fuck, Niall, move your guitar!” Harry puts the tips of his fingers to his lips to stifle his own laughter when the door opens. Instead, Louis is in its place, wearing the same boxer briefs from last night. His hair is matted down now, yet still somehow looks lovely and Harry wants nothing more than to run his fingers through it. Louis’ eyes are bleary from sleep. He squints and wipes them, trying to get used to the sun forcing its way into his line of sight. 

And he just looks so goddamn cute, Harry doesn’t know how he keeps from squealing.

“Hey, what’s up?” Louis croaks, voice scratchy. 

Harry takes a second to respond, still drinking in Louis’ presence. He shakes his head out of his daze. So subtle. “Hey, hi.” Harry peers into the room, seeing Niall and Zayn still in bed sleeping. “So there’s a diner a little ways down the road. Would you guys care to join me for breakfast?”

Louis scratches his chest, looks back at the other two before answering. “Sure, that would be lovely, thanks, babe. Just give us a minute to get ready, ‘kay?”

“Of course,” Harry says, stepping back from the door as Louis shuts it, still reeling from being called babe. Harry knows it doesn’t mean anything, but fuck if he’s not absolutely giddy about it. It’s been a while he’s been called anything cute by someone who isn’t an old lady, especially someone as absolutely gorgeous as Louis.

Twenty minutes later, the boys show up at the main office where Harry is. They climb inside the van Harry guesses to be Zayn’s, as he’s always been the driver thus far. Louis opens the passenger door and Harry expects him to get in, but instead he moves out of the way and waves a hand in the empty space.

“Show us the way,” he says to Harry.

✧

The diner is actually Harry’s absolute favorite place in town, which isn’t saying much because it’s just one of the very few establishments in the whole town anyway. But nonetheless, it’s Harry’s favorite because they make the best peach cobbler and Harry is good friends with the family who owns it.

Lou’s Diner, so aptly named after the now adult daughter of the owners, is a small, quaint mom-and-pop. The upholstery on the booths is sea green and white stripes, matching floor tile and bar stools. The menu mostly contains homemade country food. It hasn’t changed a single bit since Harry’s lived here, and he’s inclined to believe it hasn’t changed in the last 30 years it’s existed, which is all part of its magical charm, Harry thinks.

Harry leads the four of them to his usual booth by the window, Zayn sidling in beside him. Louis takes the seat directly across from him, Niall on the outside.

“Hi, doll!” Lou greets Harry when she makes her way over to their booth, notebook in hand. “Almost didn’t recognize you, walking in with all these people.”

Harry smiles kindly and introduces the boys, clarifying they are guests at the motel. “Just thought I’d take them to the best eatery in town before they’re off.”

“Stop it, you,” Lou scoffs. “So, what’ll you boys have?”

Niall immediately rattles off pancakes, bacon and sausage, scrambled eggs, and hashbrowns.

“Just a coffee would be great, please,” Zayn says.

“He’ll probably end up stealing off me plate, the arse,” Niall groans, but it comes with more mirth than probably intended.

“Don’t s’pose you have any Yorkshire tea, do you?” Louis asks, flipping through the menu.

“Oh, no, sorry, dear.”

“S’okay. Always worth a try. I’ll have a bowl of Frosted Flakes, then, and a coffee as well. Thank you, darling.”

Lou nods, scribbling in her notebook, turning to face Harry. “And the usual for you?”

Harry nods his assent and Lou pitters off behind the counter and into the kitchen.

Harry feels the heel of someone’s shoe kick against his foot and then Louis’s talking, eyes trained on Harry. “I’d say that’s what I miss most about home.”

“What’s that?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yorkshire tea.”

Harry perks up a little at the admission, that Louis finds it important to tell him, but says nothing, smiling softly instead.

While the boys eat, following getting their food shortly after, they fall into easy conversation. Niall eats sloppily, rambling on about football, and Zayn quietly sips his coffee, occasionally stealing a bite off of Niall’s plate as predicted.

“How long are you staying?” Harry asks, biting into his apple.

Zayn shrugs beside him. “Couple o’ days. Probably leaving Sunday.”

“Figured we should give Zaynie here a break from driving. Idiot won’t let either one of us behind the wheel,” Niall complains, starting to point a finger at Zayn. “That’s dumb, Malik.”

“Don’t know why either,” comes from Louis. “The van’s a piece of shit, as I’m sure you can tell.”

“A hooptie,” Harry says, then immediately regrets it because he feels like a fool.

“A what?” Niall asks, food still in his mouth.

“It’s… a hooptie,” Harry says, feeling small, toying with the loose fabric of his headscarf. “That’s what they call crappy vehicles here.”

Louis looks at Harry, eyes sparkling, an amused smile on his face and the world goes still and soft around Harry. “A hooptie, huh.” Harry bites his lip, glancing down at the table.

“Fuck off, the lot of you,” Zayn finally speaks up, breaking Harry out of his reverie. “I paid for the damn thing on my own. It’s mine.”

Louis and Niall roll their eyes simultaneously. Niall picks up a piece of his egg and throws it at Zayn’s face, bursting into laughter. Harry smiles, feeling glad to be in company with such a tight knit group of good people.

“So, Harry,” Louis starts, wiping his hands with a napkin. “We never asked. You’re clearly not from here, no? If I had to put my money on it, I’d say… Manchester?”

“Oooh, close,” Harry says, _tsk_ ing. “Cheshire. And you’re from Yorkshire.”

“Yep! Me and Zayn both.” He fist bumps Zayn.

“Money,” Niall says, holding his hand out to Louis in reference to the bet Louis made a second ago, laughing like he’s made the funniest joke in the universe. Louis slaps Niall’s arm in jest and the two begin bickering, nearly knocking over Zayn’s cup of coffee, causing Zayn to join in on their play fight. Harry sits back and marvels at the three boys, feeling a unique sense of calm wash over him. He feels so comfortable with these strangers, almost like they’re not strangers at all, like meeting them was always bound to happen. Maybe it was.

And every time Louis gives him a cursory glance, his eyes shining with exuberance, Harry inexplicably thinks _marry me, marry me, marry me._

✧

On Friday morning, Harry steps outside of the main office, the door slamming shut quickly behind him. The sun beats down, making heat waves dance across the hood of Zayn's van. He watches until he remembers for what he came out here. Opening the ice box, the burst of cold air delights him and he finds no qualms with leaning inside to fill a bag up with ice. As he’s closing the filled bag with a bag clip, he hears a loud cough in the near distance, startling him.

“Oh, hi! I didn’t know you were out here.” Harry smiles warmly, waving a small hand, the other holding the bag of ice. He starts his way over to Louis. “I was just going to bring you guys some ice, ‘cause it’s gonna be, like, really hot today and since, you know, no air conditioner…,” he trails off.

Louis looks Harry up and down as he saunters closer. Harry suddenly feels self-conscious in his black Converse and short shorts. Louis nods, clearing his throat once more, reaching a hand out for the ice. “Yeah, thanks. We appreciate it.”

“No problem. It’s my job.” He pauses, eyes growing wide. “Well, not that I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t my job, but…”

Louis laughs. “It’s fine. You’re… fine.” He gives Harry another once over, one that Harry notices. Louis shakes his head, then straightening his spine. “Nice shorts, by the way."

“Oh, ha, thanks,” Harry replies, glancing down at himself nervously, rubbing a thumb over his plump bottom lip. “They’re my sister’s.” He tries sounding more casual, and less… defensive, but they really are his sister’s shorts, an accidental addition to his packing when he moved, one that he is quite grateful for now in near constant 100 degree weather. But he’s also really pleased by how they show off his legs quite nicely, and curve around his pert bum. Maybe he’s working these to his advantage.

When Louis doesn’t respond immediately, Harry straightens his spine, feeling a strong self-esteem boost. “So, anyway there’s a festival tonight in town, and I was wondering if maybe you would want to go? All of you guys,” he amends as an afterthought.

Louis grins and nods. “Definitely."

✧

It’s 6pm when the boys leave for the festival. Harry tells them that it’s an annual event, meant to brighten the community, and that he usually comes with his friend Jonny, but this year he hasn’t been in contact with him, so he’s happy he has them to go with. The other three boys listen to Harry excitedly tell them what to expect and what his favorite things to do at the festival are.

“It’s basically the thing I look forward to the most each year,” Harry finishes. He then feels consequently embarrassed about being so excited, briefly looking at the other boys, who haven’t reacted. “Sorry. There’s just not much that happens around here, you know?”

“Aw, it’s fine, you’re cute,” Niall laughs diagonally from him.

“Yeah,” murmurs Louis, ruffling Harry’s hair from behind him, making Harry blush.

Zayn parks just across the street from where the festival is located and the group walks over to the ticket booth, each paying their way in. Niall and Zayn walk side-by-side, Harry and Louis not far behind, going over to the first thing Niall wants to do, the Tilt-a-Whirl. Niall drags Zayn onto it, who doesn’t seem very happy about it but he does so anyway. Louis begins to ascend on the metal staircase until he notices Harry isn’t following.

“Do you not like the rides?” Louis pauses.

“Er, yeah,” Harry lies. “but not this one.”

Louis looks back at Niall and Zayn climbing into one of the egg-shaped rides, seemingly unphased by their lack of presence, and then back to Harry, like he’s debating whether or not to get on. Untimately, he chooses not, so he descends the steps and joins by Harry’s side.

Though he doesn’t mean to show it, Harry must look surprised because Louis clarifies, “Didn’t think you’d want to be alone, so…”

Harry shrugs, smiling softly. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

The two stand in comfortable silence as they watch the Tilt-a-Whirl spin around, looking for Niall and Zayn. The sounds of children laughing and screaming, games making loud beeping noises to congratulate winners, and the metal clanging of the Tilt-a-Whirl fills the space between them. When the ride stops minutes later and Niall and Zayn exit the ride, the four talk about what to do next.

“Can we do something… that doesn’t jerk around?” Zayn requests, sounding somewhat annoyed, a pointed look on his face at Niall as he angles his head for Niall to re-adjust his hair to how it was before.

“How about the ferris wheel?” Louis asks, looking up into the distance where the ferris wheel is. He turns to Harry, squinting slightly. “Would you be up for that one?”

Harry nods quickly, biting back a smile.

“Good,” Louis says, leading the group towards the ferris wheel, glancing back at Zayn and Niall lagging behind, laughing together. “Looks like they’ve already paired up. You don’t mind having to sit by me, do you?”

“Not at all,” is Harry’s response.

Louis climbs in the seat first, but before he can even get situated, Harry’s tripping over the step ladder, face landing on Louis’ thigh.

“Oh, fuck, sorry,” Harry mumbles when he pulls back, embarrassed.

“S’alright,” Louis laughs, scooting over to let Harry have more room. “You okay?”

“Mhm.”

The ferris wheel begins its slow ascent upwards and around and the two sit in silence, looking around at the entire festival. Two little girls run hand-in-hand, weeding through the hordes of people surrounding them. A man carries a sleeping toddler in his arms, an older boy beside him eating funnel cake happily. The temperature is still hot, but it’s cooled down significantly, especially now that the wind is blowing, making Harry fearful that his headscarf is going to blow away, despite knowing rationally it won’t.

“I lied before, you know,” Harry voices, breaking their silence.

“About what?” Louis inquires, curious.

“I don’t like the rides, usually. In fact, I’m kinda terrified of most of them,” Harry admits, speaking low. “I feel like I’m always reading about a ride going nuts and some kid gets their arm chopped off. And that’s at, like, actual amusement parks that follow regulations and have lots of money to keep their rides in good condition, you know? This is small time, just some dumb festival in the middle of God knows where.” Harry exhales heavily.

It’s silent for a minute between them, and Harry almost starts to feel foolish for admitting that, until Louis speaks up. “Are you scared right now?”

Harry decides to be honest. “Yeah.” Then, his hand is engulfed by Louis’s own.

“My sisters get scared on rides, too,” Louis whispers, leaning close to Harry’s ear, emphasizing by squeezing Harry’s hand in his own.

With their hands intertwined, Louis absentmindedly rubs circles on Harry’s knuckle with his thumb. Harry watches their hands together from the corner of his eye, staring. He wonders if he stared long enough, time would cause flowers to blossom between their hands, vines to encroach their fingers, lacing them together forever. Like an abandoned house being overrun by nature. Sometimes Harry feels like an abandoned house, one that’s been avoided for so long that everyone starts to believe it’s haunted. In his imagination, Louis would be the boy who dared to spend the night, hesitant but ends up falling in love with the creaks and moans of Harry’s walls, and when he fixes Harry up, he leaves the wildflowers blooming because they’re part of him.

The sun is setting by the time they’re getting off the ferris wheel, hands still intertwined until they stand up. Harry almost wishes they still had a reason to hold hands, almost wants to reach for Louis and link them back together anyway. They still walk side-by-side, though, Niall and Zayn a little further off in the distance, laughing together and touching in almost intimate ways. It’s darker now, but the bright lights of carnival games brighten their path.

“Are they, like…” Harry asks, cocking his head towards Zayn and Niall. “together?”

Louis looks pensive when he answers, eyebrows furrowing in a way that makes Harry want to kiss between them, kiss them back to serenity. “I honestly don’t know.” He pauses, clearly watching the other two boys. Niall has one of those massive souvenir cups of lemonade now, holding it out for Zayn to drink. “I think, maybe, in a way, they are, but I don’t think they know it.”

“Does that bother you?” Harry asks. “That they kind of dance around it?”

Louis looks at him funny. “No, of course not. They’re my best mates. I think it’s just… part of who they are, you know? Besides, it hasn’t caused any drama so far, so I figure why bring it up. Probably helps them write good songs, too.”

Harry accepts that, nodding in agreement. Secretly, Harry wonders if maybe at least one of them wants it to be brought up, though.

“Hey!” Louis shouts, grabbing Harry’s bicep. “Come with me.” He drags Harry over to one of the festival games, the kind you try to knock over bowling pins with baseballs in order to win a prize. “I was always really good at this as a kid.”

“Try it and show me your skills,” Harry dares, crossing his arms.

“I haven’t done it for years though,” Louis says.

“No, no!” Harry exclaims, grabbing the offered three baseballs, holding one out for Louis. “You’re gonna do it, no backing down now.”

“I _never_ back down,” Louis states, fixing Harry with a glare and taking the baseball. He steps back and assumes the position -- well, _a_ position, Harry’s not totally sure if it’s _the_ right one. Louis rolls out his shoulders and pulls his right arm back and throws. And misses completely. Louis clearly tries not to look defeated.

Harry doesn’t let himself laugh, only offering Louis the second ball, which he takes with more force than necessary. Again, Harry bites back any amusement. Louis changes his stance this time, throws the ball up in the air a couple of times, and then aims and throws. The ball flies right over top of the pins, doesn’t knock over a single one.

Louis takes the last ball out of Harry’s hands, their fingertips brushing. Louis aims the ball once more, but then stops, straightening up and turning to Harry. He holds out of the baseball to Harry’s face. “Here, kiss it.”

“What?” Harry asks incredulously, mouth agape.

“Kiss it,” Louis grins. “For good luck.”

Louis’s eyes seem to dance before Harry, watching him with such a delightful look. Harry slowly leans forward, purses his lips, and kisses the baseball Louis holds out for him. “Okay,” he whispers.

Louis winks at him, pulls his arm back and throws aimlessly, without even breaking eye contact with Harry, knocking over every single bowling pin in the process. Harry lets out a breathy laugh, shocked.

The heavy-set man inside the booth begins picking up the pins. “So what’ll you have?” he asks, in a deep, monotone voice, tired from the excursion of dealing with the public for hours on end.

Harry turns to Louis, expecting him to answer with whatever prize he wants, but instead, Louis is still looking at him. “What do you want?” he asks Harry, raising his hand to the rows of stuffed animals hanging from the top of the booth.

“What?”

“Pick something. Haven’t got all day,” he teases.

Harry surveys the stuffed animals, switching pressure from his left foot to his right heel. “You pick something,” he challenges.

Louis purses his lips in thought, scanning the animals himself. Finally, he points to a large green, stuffed frog hiding behind a fluffy rabbit. “We’ll take that.”

Harry’s mouth falters open slightly when the man hands Louis the frog. “Here, for you,” Louis says simply, putting the frog in Harry’s arms.

“A frog?” Harry asks, soft, disbelieving laughter bubbling out of his lips.

Louis shrugs as they begin walking away from the booth to allow for a younger boy who was waiting behind them to play. “Sometimes you, like, make these faces that remind me of a frog.”

“I do not!” Harry shouts, hitting Louis with his new stuffed toy, but he’s grinning because he can’t help it and he feels happy for some reason that Louis even compares Harry to animals, albeit amphibians. “Do I?”

“I’m afraid you do, babe,” Louis counters. “It’s cute, though.”

Harry goes quiet then, content with that, lips upturned in a smile as they walk to find Niall and Zayn. He clutches the frog closer to his chest.

“Ay! Get your arses over here!” Niall yells from afar, waving them over to a neon lit booth that advertises funnel cakes and snow cones. 

“Do you want anything?” Louis asks in the shell of Harry’s ear as they approach the other boys, sending a shiver down Harry’s spine.

“No, I’m good,” Harry declines, breathless.

“C’mon, I’ll buy it for you,” Louis offers, standing in line anyway, despite Harry’s rejection. Louis begins pulling out a few bucks from his back pocket.

“Oh, no, don’t, Louis, you don’t have to,” Harry pleads with his eyes.

“No,” Louis waves him off, “it’s fine, I swear. We’ll share, anyway, yeah? Besides, it’s the least I could do for you since you just won that game for me, huh?” He raises an eyebrow.

It takes a minute for Harry to understand that Louis is implying his good luck kiss is what won the game and before Harry has any opportunity to further object to Louis buying him anything, Louis’s already bought a pink cotton candy bag.

“I hope you like cotton candy,” he says, opening the bag and offering it to Harry. “Go on, don’t make me feel like I just wasted 5 American dollars on you.” Harry glares at him playfully before sticking his hand in the bag and pulling out a piece, sticking his tongue out as he places the sticky substance on it slowly, keeping constant eye contact with Louis. He doesn’t really intend it to be some weird innuendo, but the way Louis’ eyes darken before him makes him second guess his action.

“Yes, boys!” Niall shouts for seemingly no reason, jumping in between them, arms stretched around both their shoulders, breaking the heady vibe that was brewing between Harry and Louis. “Oooh, cotton candy.” He grabs the bag from Louis’s hands and begins devouring pieces of the cotton candy. Louis, still maintaining their eye contact, makes a fondly annoyed face, crooking his neck back at Niall as if to say ‘idiot,’ and rolls his eyes, causing Harry to giggle as they shuffle towards their next ride.

It’s the most perfect night Harry’s had in so long.

✧

The next afternoon, Harry’s at the front desk alone when the three other boys all enter the building at once, hooping and hollering and talking loudly to each other, breaking all the silence Harry’s gotten used to already.

“Hiya!” Niall chirps at Harry, reaching over to ruffle Harry’s hair. “How are ya?”

“Hey,” Harry responds happily, clearing his desk enough to make room for at least one boy to have a place to sit. Niall takes the seat without hesitation. Zayn stays behind the upper desk, one elbow resting on the counter. Louis sidles up beside Harry with an extra chair.

“So, Curly, what d’ya do around here for fun?” Louis asks, propping his feet up on the desk. The pace of Harry’s heart quickens at the new pet name from Louis. His hair isn’t as curly as it once was, not that Louis would know, but Wavy isn’t a very cute nickname, is it?

Harry laughs nervously. “Um,” he scrambles for anything to say, scratching his head. Coincidentally, a familiar motor purrs from outside. A thought occurs to him. “You see that guy out there in the parking lot?” The boys all watch the biker park his motorcycle. “His name is Clyde. He’s always traveling from Texas to California and back, and he always stops here for a night. I like to make up stories about why he’s always traveling.” 

“You mean you don’t just think it’s business or whatever?” Niall says.

“Does he look like a businessman to you?” Zayn quips, knocking Niall’s head playfully.  
“What’s your best story?” Louis inquires.

Harry ponders a second, hesitant as Clyde is getting closer to the door. “I think he has two families.”

“Oh-ho-ho, shit!” Niall nearly shouts. “Proof?”

“Hey, get down,” Harry orders quietly when Clyde begins opening the door. Zayn moves off to the side and Niall hops off the desk, standing in between Harry and Louis.

Harry and Clyde do their business as always. Harry tries for the upteenth time to catch another glimpse of the inside of Clyde’s wallet, desperate to see the photos that back up his theory. Harry hands him his key slowly, much slower than usual, distracted by his efforts. Harry smiles, acting casually and Clyde fixes him with a look. Harry’s unable to tell if he’s weirded out by Harry or he’s curious as to why there are three other boys staring at him.

When Clyde finally exists, the other three boys burst out laughing and Harry looks at them curiously.

“God, Curly,” Louis starts, “couldn’t look any more suspicious, could you?”

Harry smiles sheepishly. “But did you see inside he wallet? He has pictures of two different families. I still think I’m right.”

“Detective Styles, eh?” Niall laughs. “Hey, Zaynie, maybe we should go help Harry with his investigation, huh? Find out more about our mate Clyde.”

Zayn doesn’t answer but when Niall starts bounding out of the room, he follows behind, leaving Harry and Louis alone.

“Try not to both-- oh,” Harry tries yelling after them in vain, efforts scorched when they are too far away. He turns to Louis. “They’re not really gonna go after him, are they?”

Louis shrugs, laughing. “Honestly I have no idea what they get up to in private together.” His eyes crinkle in the cutest way that makes Harry feel warm and gooey and dizzy inside, like having a schoolchild crush. Kind of like how you feel when you lay backside on a spinning playground merry-go-round, the world surrounding you rushing past like watching time itself physically move, and the only thing that stays still, stays permanent is the sky and clouds above you. That’s what looking at Louis’s face feels like.

A comfortable silence brews between them when a welcome breeze blows in from the open door, apparently strong enough to unwind the headscarf wrapped loosely around Harry’s head, making it blow away and topple swiftly towards the floor behind him.

“Here.” Louis launches at the scarf before Harry even has a chance to sit up, catching it in the air. His arms come around Harry’s head. “Sit back,” he instructs.

Harry leans back into his chair, into Louis’ touch. Harry instinctively reaches his hand up to help Louis tie it around his head, through his hair, their fingers brushing gently. Louis pulls it tight, tying it in a double knot. He even manages to get long, curlier pieces of Harry’s hair and angle them over the knot to hide it, just like Harry would do himself. 

“Thanks,” Harry mutters softly, elongating the s timidly.

“No problem,” Louis replies, ruffling Harry’s hair a bit. “‘S cute on you, I like ‘em.”

Harry blushes slightly under the compliment. Deep down, he thinks he should feel somewhat ridiculous for the way Louis makes him act, makes him nervous and confident at the same time, always self-aware and yet sure and uncaring, like he knows Louis wouldn’t mind him any way he looks or whatever he says. That he’d be around no matter what.

Louis retakes his seat and for a moment it’s quiet, until Louis touches Harry’s shin with his foot. “What’s your story?”

“What?” Harry reacts, puzzled.

“What’s your story?” he repeats. “I told you ours, so tell me yours. Why are you here? What’s your plans?”

“Oh,” Harry realizes. He mulls it over a minute. “I don’t really have a story.”

“Sure you do,” Louis insists. “Everyone has a story. How did you get from Cheshire to Bumfuck, Arizona?”

“Planes, trains and automobiles,” Harry mocks.

“Oi, you wisecrack,” Louis says, pretending to be appalled, but unable to help the smile forming on his face, “fine, I don’t care about your story.”

Harry sits up in his seat, twisting to face Louis directly. “You really wanna know?”

“Yes.”

“It’s kinda funny, really,” Harry reveals, registering it for the first time himself, even. “I was on my way to California too, wanting to sing…”

“You can sing?” Louis asks, surprised, eyebrows raising high.

Harry doesn’t know how to answer that question, seeing as how he hasn’t sang in front of anyone for years. “Sometimes.”

“What happened?” Louis seems to be sitting closer now, their knees an inch apart and if Harry moves just a bit to the left, they would be touching. He watches the fingers of Louis’ hands twist and untwist together in his lap. He wants Louis to touch him.

Harry shrugs. “I stopped at that diner, fell in love with the vibe of the place, you know? I stayed here for a night and ended up taking a job because I knew I needed the money. It wasn’t supposed to be a forever thing, I just wanted to be ready for any rejections I faced when I got to California. Three years later, I’m still here.”

“That’s rubbish, Harry,” is all Louis says, causing Harry to laugh.

“It’s fine. I’m… happy.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” Louis replies, looking away in the distance.

Something about the way he says it makes Harry question himself.

✧

It’s nearly dark out when hears a motor outside later that night, someone pulling into the motel parking lot. When he sees it’s Zayn’s van, he’s surprised since he hadn’t noticed it was gone in the first place. He walks out to meet Zayn, but is instead greeted by Louis hopping out of the front seat.

“Does Zayn know about this?” Harry teases, approaching Louis. Louis shakes his head and puts his pointer finger to his lips in an attempt to silence Harry.

“I won’t tell if you won’t. C’mon, help me with this,” Louis urges, tossing his shoulder to the side of the van before swinging open the sliding door.

“What, you can’t carry two six-packs on your own?” Harry asks when he sees what’s sitting in the floor of the van.

Louis fixes him with a teasing glare and hands him one of the six-packs, anyway. “You know, I drove halfway across the globe before I saw a single convenience store, Harold. How _do_ you live like this?”

Harry laughs, shaking his head slightly, shrugging. “It’s a struggle.”

“I’ll say,” Louis says, eyes sparkling as he watches Harry. Louis opens the motel room door and sets one six-pack on the inside. When Harry tries doing the same with his, Louis stops him. “Nah, that one’s for you.”

Harry stays silent for a moment, considering a thanks, but instead, in a quiet voice says, “Can I show you something?”

Harry leads Louis around the back of the building, toting the six-pack in hand, and stops in front of the small, enclosed garden. The air is richer and fresher now this late at night, much less stuffy than during the day. Moonlight is the only manner of light, the grey and bluish tones bring a bursting sense of cool, unfamiliar and strange, but welcome.

“What’s this?” Louis asks.

Harry rolls his eyes, opening the gate to let them both in. “It’s my garden. Well, technically, it’s not mine, but…”

“I know, but like, why are you showing it to me?” Louis asks, running a finger over the frame of the fence that’s covered in vines.

Truthfully, Harry doesn’t know why he’s showing it to Louis, and he tells him as much. He’s never shown it to anyone besides Miss Barbara, only because it’s hers, and it’s not as if he has very many people to show it to, regardless. Even the owners of the motel don’t know about it, so Harry thinks it’s sort of special.

Harry gets down onto his knees in front of the two clay pots Miss Barbara had left him earlier in the week. “You wanna help me transplant these?” Louis gives him a surprised look.

Less than fifteen minutes later, Louis is exaggeratedly thrashing his body about, groaning and whining like a toddler. Harry’s already too soft for Louis to be annoyed by the man’s constant need for attention and lack of patience and focus it takes to replant new flora. Louis pulls out his final weed, all the way down from the root at the insistent of Harry, and then falls back against the pavement and stays there, staring up at the sky.

Harry sighs lightly and scoots back closer to Louis to accompany him, sitting Indian style next to him. His eyes wander down the length of Louis’ body, from his waist to his feet. Louis’ pants are rolled up above his ankles and Harry notices a black ink written across the front of them. 

“You have tattoos?” Harry asks, breathlessly.

Louis sits up on his bum, pulling his legs up closer to give Harry a better angle to see. Each ankle has a different word; it spells out ‘The Rogue.’ “Yeah, just this,” he says, tracing his fingers across ‘The.’ “for now,” he amends.

“‘The Rogue,’” Harry says. “Sounds like a band name.”

“Ha! Good guess,” Louis grins. “That is the name of our band.”

Harry raises his eyebrows and taps the side of his forehead, as if to signify how incredibly brainy he must be, smiling. Then, he pulls his knees up to his chest and turns his feet towards Louis.

“I have my tattoos in the same place,” Harry says, quietly, almost like he doesn’t want to point that out, maybe keep that oddity to himself.

“‘Never Gonna Dance Again,’” Louis reads aloud. “You a big George Michael fan?” he teases.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, unsmiling, catching Louis with a serious look. “I own every record he’s ever made, Louis.”

Louis puts his hands up in defense. “Hey, me mum was real serious about him, too, growing up.”

Harry breaks his look, shaking his head. He rubs his thumb over one of his ankles. “Nah, I dunno. It was just meant to be ironic because I don’t know how to dance.”

“I think it’s clever,” he says. Then he bumps shoulders with him. “Word of advice, though: don’t be an actor in your next life, I can see right through you.” Harry scoffs and knees Louis in the thigh.

✧ 

Another half hour later, after finally getting Louis to transplant flowers from a pot and into ground soil, water the rest of the flowers, and pull any weeds that have grown in the garden beds, the two sit on a traditionally decorative bench that rests in the corner of the garden, a nearly empty six-pack fallen off to the side of the bench.

Somehow they’d ended up there with Louis suggesting they share the beer he bought for Harry, but they hadn’t meant to drink practically all of it. Harry supposes it doesn’t affect Louis quite as much, but  
he himself feels warm and slightly giddy and heavy, like some slow moving liquid… he can’t think of a specific kind right now. With everything as quiet as it is now, with only the sounds of distant crickets making noise, Harry feels especially conscious of his sobriety.

The moon is directly behind Louis and the moonlight shines bright and white against Louis’ sharp profile, causing him to look angelic and dark at the same time and Harry still really, really wants to reach up and run his fingers over his scruff. 

Harry runs his finger over the rim of the glass bottle instead, his feet propped up on Louis’s lap. Louis rests his palm over Harry’s ankle, running a thumb over his ankle bone. Deep in his mind, he knows he’s going to have killer back pain tomorrow for lying this way, but right now, with Louis touching his skin, he can’t bring himself to care. His head lolls carelessly off the side of the uncomfortable metal armrest, as if he can’t keep his head upright.

“Are you a lightweight, Harry Styles?” Louis asks in a taunting voice, sounding fainter to Harry’s ears than he thinks it would if he were sober.

“No,” Harry lies, bringing a hand to his mouth, hiding an onset of hiccups.

Louis leans forward, his hand running up from Harry’s ankle to his waist and the air between them grows thicker. Louis hums above him, a tune Harry doesn’t recognize. Harry hiccups again, chest shaking along with it, but Louis keeps his hand still on his waist, until he dips his finger below Harry’s shirt. His eyes dart back up to Harry’s own, and Harry watches him with awe, blinking slowly.

“God, you’re cute,” Louis murmurs, voice low.

“Am I?” Harry breathes. “And what does that make you?”

Louis hums again, gaze lowering to watch his fingers dance across the exposed skin above the waistline of Harry’s jeans. Harry’s stomach curls and swoops in response to the sensation. He brings the rim of his beer bottle to his lips, tapping it gently there.

“I guess that depends on you,” Louis finally answers, eyebrow raised slightly, gaze lifting.

Harry _hmm_ s softly, bringing his free hand to Louis’ shoulder, grazing down his arm to meet his wrist. “I think… you’re really bloody fit.” He isn’t sure if this is what he would be saying if he were sober. He tries to sound as sober as possible, but he’s lost his ability to tell.

Louis gives a wide smirk. “Thanks.”

Harry huffs out a giggle, almost nervous. His hand still rests on Louis’ wrist, guiding Louis’ hand across Harry’s waist.

“What do you want?” Louis asks in a low voice, curious as he notices Harry’s notions.

Harry lets out a breath, eyes drifting to where their hands meet, hovering over his groin and god, Harry knows he’s seconds from getting hard and all he wants, all he thinks he’s ever wanted, is for Louis to touch him, there or anywhere, honestly, just. He feels frantic for it already.

He doesn’t know who makes the first move or how exactly it happened, but it seems like one second he’s lying there desperately wishing for Louis to touch him and suddenly his face is being cradled by Louis’ hands and his own are fishing beneath Louis’ shirt. Louis’ lips are barely a hair’s breadth from his own, ghosting over his cheeks and Harry fights the urge to arch up into it. He’s so, so, so close Harry can feel the a hint of Louis’ scuff scratch against his lips.

“Kiss me,” Harry thinks he admits out loud and that’s all it takes before Louis closes the gap and presses their lips together, barely allowing Harry to breathe, let alone for his brain catch up with the situation. His hands are running down Louis’ back, massaging there. Louis’ pull Harry’s waist up from behind, leaning their bodies closer together. All Harry can hear or feel is his heart beating wildly in his chest.

“Can we…,” Louis suggests, head crooking towards the building, and Harry’s nodding _yes, yes, anything anywhere, yes_ before he even knows what he means.

They stand up together, desperate not to part but knowing they have to until Harry pulls Louis back into his space, kissing him hungrily as they back up out of the garden.

“Watch the… flowers,” Harry advises lamely through a kiss, hardly listening to his own advice before nearly tripping over a potted plant, just missing it when Louis lifts Harry’s thigh up around his hip, dragging him around the building. They stop periodically, without really meaning to but not being able to help it. Harry shoves them up against the wall, so close to the entrance. He throws his head back, giving Louis access to his neck.

“C’mon.” Louis takes ahold of Harry’s hand and Harry finally catches his breath when they walk through the entrance and into Harry’s room. The reality of the situation finally hits him, like a needle scratching on a record or something. This is the first time Louis’s been in his room.

The room is dark, save for a lamp in the corner beside the bed. Louis doesn’t look around much, but when he closes the space between him and Harry again, his mouth sliding up his neck and to Harry’s ears, he whispers, “You have a lot of candles.”

Harry laughs breathlessly, Louis’s tongue tracing circles on his skin, causing Harry’s brain to short circuit. Feeling awkward knowing they’re never going to get anywhere just by standing in the middle of the room, Harry pulls Louis backwards with him until the back of his knees hit the bed and he sits.

Louis places his knees on either side of Harry’s legs and Louis looks down at Harry, toying with the stray hair around Harry’s ears. Harry helps Louis out of his shirt and he kisses from Louis’s chest to the base of his stomach, fingers resting lightly at his waistband. The air isn’t as thick or slow as before now between them, but still just as heated, still just as strong and urgent and Harry’s brain is swimming in pure, unadulterated arousal.

Harry slides back on the bed against the headboard, one leg wrapping around Louis to urge him on as well. He curls his pointer finger towards himself, silently asking for Louis to climb across his body. They both giggle into each other’s mouths when they’re close enough, high from this already. They kiss timidly but sweetly until it manifests into something headier and more desperate. Harry runs his hands down the flank of Louis’ exposed chest until finally, _finally_ Louis pulls Harry’s shirt off too.

“What do you want?” Louis murmurs, pressed to Harry’s lips, the question from in the garden echoing between them.

Harry’s head rushes, making his head feel light and his body feel heavy simultaneously. Still not sobered up enough to hide his enthusiasm, he blurts, “Wanna feel you. Anywhere. Fuck.” He reaches a palm up to Louis’ jaw. “Wanna feel this between my legs.”

“Shit,” Louis groans. “Shit, Harry.” He’s shaking his head like he can’t believe it and he says nearly as much. “I can’t believe you’re real.” He starts kissing across Harry’s chest, stopping at his nipples, teasing them there. Harry’s breath catches at the contact.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” Harry realizes seconds later, at a loss for words, shivering beneath Louis’ mouth on his hardened nipples, his fingertips pressing from his collarbone to his neck.

“Yeah,” Louis admits, seeming unphased by Harry’s comment, like he was thinking the same thing. Louis pulls away, just watches Harry now, watches his fingers dance on Harry’s skin, watches the way Harry’s abs jump and contract at every touch and feel, how his Adam’s apple bobs slightly, listens to the way his breath hitches every time Louis’s lips get close enough for another kiss. “How is your skin this pale when you live on the fucking sun?” Louis wonders quietly, kissing down Harry’s neck.

“Dunno,” Harry replies, grinning, “but I’m gonna have great skin when I’m older.”

“Very true,” Louis assents, sucking on the space between Harry’s neck and shoulder gently.

Soon Louis’s hands reach the waistband of Harry’s jeans again, but this time he doesn’t stop, begins unbuttoning them, and Harry would be slightly embarrassed at how hard he is already if he couldn’t tell that Louis was just as hard. Harry lifts his hips, giving Louis the chance to tug his jeans and boxer briefs down and off forcefully, throwing them to the side.

“Christ, you’re huge,” Louis mumbles, the words falling out of his mouth like he hadn’t meant to say them. Harry grins and shrugs, a sudden warm confidence coursing through his blood, only heightened by Louis pressing kisses down his thin happy trail. Harry can’t resist the urge to curl his fingers through Louis’ fringe. Harry can finally feel Louis’s facial hair scraping across his sensitive skin as Louis makes his way down lower. The scratches send shivers down his spine, making him anticipate more. 

Louis moves his head between Harry’s legs, face brushing up against his thigh where he sucks fervently at a meatier part. The scruff scratches and burns as Louis works his mouth, swiping his tongue in different shapes, making Harry dizzy with arousal. His skin will be raw and red there tomorrow, and Harry can’t wait to have that.

“Louis,” Harry whines as Louis’s scruff grazes the head of his dick, causing Harry to shove his hips up into the air. “do something, please.”

“I can’t suck your dick, Harry,” Louis says sadly. Harry pouts until it melts into relief when Louis brings his hand to Harry’s dick, getting it slick from precome. “The Rogue has an audition tomorrow and I have a feeling,” he continues, flicking his thumb over the head and Harry groans and grinds into Louis’s palm desperately, barely able to listen to Louis but trying _so hard_ anyway, “you wouldn’t be able to prevent yourself from fucking my throat.” He smirks, gripping tightly at the base and making jerky upward motions.

“I would-- I would,” Harry tries weakly, rasping, eyes clenched shut. He doesn’t want to come yet, doesn’t want this to be over, God, he wants this to last forever and he never wants Louis to not be touching him. Louis’s hands seem so practiced, like he knows Harry’s cock so well already, knows what Harry likes and what drives him to the brink; how Harry likes it to hurt a little, likes squeezing the base of his cock like a vice and getting the precome everywhere, liking it messy and wild and desperate. Louis’ hands were made for Harry, and maybe more than just his hands.

Harry bitterly and childishly regrets that thought as soon as Louis’ hand is off his dick and he wants to cry from being close and not being able to reach it.

Louis must sense Harry’s resentment so he comes close to Harry’s face, hand rested on his cheek to get Harry to open his eyes. “Where’s your lube?”

Harry croaks in the back of his throat, pupils expanding. He sits up on his elbow and fumbles his hand over to the bedside table gracelessly, fishes around until he finds the bottle and a condom. He’s too wrapped up in his own excitement and desperation he doesn’t even notice Louis has had enough time to pull away and get the rest of his own clothes off. Any residual hesitance, if there ever were, is instantly melted away as soon as Harry sees Louis’ body sans clothing. All Harry can do at this stage is stare and if his dick had softened at all in the time it took to search for necessities, it’s definitely harder now, curving against his belly.

When Harry pulls Louis back on top of him, kissing him deeply, Louis manages to take the bottle out of Harry’s hand and pop the cap open. “Are you good?” Louis mumbles against Harry’s lips.

Harry wraps his pointer finger and thumb around Louis’ wrist, nodding slowly. Then he rolls his shoulder in a gentle shrug, eyes meeting Louis’s. “It’s been a while though.” 

Harry’s long past being a virgin, but he’s not lying when he says it’s been a while. In truth it’d been over a year since he’d been with someone other than his own hands and he hasn’t really slept with anyone he felt serious about for over three years. He wishes Louis could know just how serious he feels about this with his small admission, could know he’s not taking this lightly and God, he wants this, he wants this.

“Okay,” Louis says, lifting Harry’s hand to his lips and gives a simple kiss there. “Turn over, darling.”

Harry shudders, flipping over on his stomach. Louis guides his hips up so Harry’s resting on his knees and elbows. From this angle, the only indication Harry has of what Louis is doing is by touch and sound. He hears the cap of the bottle snap open again, and seconds later, he feels Louis pressing two fingers at his entrance, not pressing in, but massaging around. Louis’s other hand rests on his bum, thumb pulling his cheek apart to allow for more access.

Harry chews on his lip from anticipation, forcing himself to be patient but God, he is so not patient. Harry is half a second from begging already before Louis finally presses one finger inside and Harry sighs contentedly. It’s not particularly pleasurable or displeasurable, but he feels so much relief from just this already, any and all tension he’s felt in the past twenty years dissipating at the persistence of Louis’s finger probing in and out, stretching him slowly.

“More,” Harry groans.

Louis runs his hand down Harry’s back, giving him comfort as he presses in another finger. This time, Louis wastes no time before he’s twisting his fingers and curving them to find the most pleasurable spot in Harry. Harry drops his head between his arms when Louis hits it, moaning. Louis presses small kisses in quick succession at the bottom of Harry’s spin as he continues to fuck in and out of Harry with his fingers.

When he adds a third finger, Harry’s panting harshly. Harry feels Louis’ fingers practically glide in and out of him, so easily, feeling slick and open and exposed. He feels warmth coil in his stomach, his heart beating erratically, his cock leaking from the tip onto his bedsheets and fuck, he wants Louis inside him for real _yesterday_. 

“Oh, God,” he spits, “Louis, fuck me, I need-- fuck.” Harry whines from deep in his throat, chewing at his bottom lip like it’s his lifeline.

Louis must’ve been spending the last minute getting a condom on singlehandedly because Harry barely has time to realize Louis’ fingers are out of him before Louis is pressing the head of his cock at Harry’s rim, testing. Harry grips the bedsheets, clinging desperately as he prepares for Louis to get the head in. He moans loudly all the way until Louis is buried in, secure, his body making just enough room for Louis’ cock.

“Jesus, Harry,” Louis pants, throat sounding constricted, “you’re so-- bloody tight.”

Harry _mmpf_ s, needing Louis to get a move on, so he rocks his body with purpose, bringing a hand back to rest on his arse, spreading his cheek. Louis gets the hint, laying one hand over top of Harry’s, and the other gripping Harry’s hip securely, sure to leave a bruise. He pulls out and then back in slowly, their bodies moving together in a perfect rhythm. 

Harry drops his head to the pillow, mouth open in a permanent gasp and watering. Louis fucks into him with ease, and it’s so, so good and hot and perfect and Harry feels full and complete. Harry finds the energy to tighten his rim around Louis’s cock, making it so much better. Louis leans forward, his lips resting on Harry’s shoulder.

Their hands lock together by Harry’s waist, and all Harry wants is to see Louis now. He attempts crooking his neck to the side, but it’s so uncomfortable, so instead he gathers the strength to lift back up on his elbows and drop his head low, which changes the angle significantly, causing every thrust of Louis’s to hit his prostate. His limbs turn to jelly.

“Right there,” Harry rasps. “Keep-- there, holy shit.”

Louis gains confidence seemingly and he tightens his grip on Harry’s hips even more, pounding into Harry with no remorse. Harry spreads his knees apart far enough that his dick is trapped between his stomach and the mattress and his sweaty thighs are pressed to the mattress. Louis wraps his hand around one thigh and fucks him relentlessly, the sound of slick skin snapping against each other the only sound in the room aside from Harry’s constant panting. 

Harry can feel his orgasm rising, his body radiating fire and trembling beneath Louis. Louis’s hands snake between Harry’s legs, but instead of grabbing his ignored cock, Louis presses two firm fingers from each hand hard at the junctions between Harry’s thighs and cock, causing Harry’s knees to buckle at the exact time Harry comes. Louis continues fucking him as Harry regains composure until he’s coming himself.

They stay still like this for a few seconds until they both catch their breath. Harry closes his legs when Louis pulls out, allowing Louis more room on the bed. Every movement feels slow now in the aftershocks of their orgasms. 

“Fuck,” Louis breathes, resting against the pillows beside Harry, “And I really wanted to eat you out.”

“Maybe next time,” Harry pants, stomach swooping at the admission, lips chasing Louis’s, even though they both know the likelihood of there being a next time is slim to none.

✧

The next morning, Harry wakes Louis up by rolling a frozen water bottle down Louis’ bare back, water droplets pooling at the base of Louis’ spine where the curve of his delectable bum is. Harry presses open-mouthed kisses on Louis’ shoulder until he shivers and opens his eyes.

“G’morning,” he yawns.

“Good _afternoon_ ,” Harry corrects, cheery as ever, resting his chin on his arm as it lays across Louis’ upper back.

“You’re already dressed,” Louis comments once he’s truly awake. “Boo.”

“I do have a job, you know,” Harry teases. Louis reaches out and tweaks Harry’s nipple over his shirt, causing Harry to squeal and pull away from Louis.

“Anyway,” Harry sighs once they’ve stared longingly at each other long enough. “Niall and Zayn are packing the van, now. I let you sleep as long as I could.”

Louis’ head is still lying on the pillow, but he turns over on his side and opens his arm for Harry to join him, like he knows Harry needs the affection. Harry enters the space quickly, Louis’ arms wrapping around his frame.

“Should’ve just let you sleep longer. Until Zayn and Niall were gone. Maybe they wouldn’t even notice you weren’t there and then I could have you,” Harry whispers, admiring the way his fingers dance down Louis’s bicep, childishly thinking and hoping beyond hope that somehow he and Louis could turn into tiny little miniature people like the ones from that kids’ movie from the 90s with John Goodman and run away from the rest of the world. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Louis’s face brightens like he’s just hit the lottery and Harry wants to smack him at first, believing he’s amused by Harry’s unhappiness. “Come with me!”

“What,” Harry says, and it’s not so much a question, but more so… speechlessness. By now, Harry’s backed away from Louis’ embrace, knees pulled up to his chest.

“Yes, come with me! Come with us to California. It’ll be so great!” Louis puts a hand out on Harry’s knee.

“Louis…” Harry placates, unsure of what to say.

Louis looks like he’s thought up the most genius solution that’s ever been thought up, looking around Harry’s room feverishly like he can mentally catalogue everything that Harry would need upon leaving. Harry watches him dumbfoundedly. “It’s perfect,” Louis continues. “There’s definitely enough room in the van for you and all the things you’ll need. Unfortunately, we’ll have to leave some of your candles behind. And we don’t have a place set up in LA yet to stay, so it’s not like we already have an apartment right now that only fits three of us or anything.”

“Louis, I can’t just leave!” Harry breaks, shocking Louis out of his reverie. He’s not mad, he’s just desperate for Louis to understand. “I-- I have a life here, this is my home and my job-- I-- I can’t just leave.” He inhales deeply, regaining composure.

Louis deflates visibly. “Oh.”

“It’s not that I wouldn’t want to go if I could,” Harry says, feeling sad for him, for both of them. “But I can’t.”

Louis rolls his eyes, suddenly looking annoyed. “Like there’s so much here for you anyway, Harry. If you came with us, you’d have so many more opportunities to do the things you want to do and you wanna stay here in Nowheres Land?”

Harry fights feeling offended, knows Louis is just reacting, knows he might not be wrong, too. “Look,” he sighs, grabbing Louis’ hands to catch his attention. “I don’t wanna argue about this and I don’t want us to leave on bad terms.”

“No,” Louis says, sounding sincere. “no bad terms. I just… really don’t want to leave you. Is that crazy? We just met.”

Harry smiles and shakes his head, feeling warm and empty at the same time. A bit heartbroken, maybe. “‘S’not crazy.” Harry nuzzles his face against Louis’s, teasing their lips together but never really attaching them until Louis twists his arms around Harry’s body and tugs him closer, kissing him like he’s starving for it. For Harry.

“I like you so much,” Louis admits in a hushed tone.

“I know,” Harry says back, wanting so badly to say the same thing, wanting to let it out. The only thing stopping him is his certainty that once he says it out loud, it’ll be much harder to let him go. He spares himself this one heartache.

“If only we had more time,” Louis mumbles, still connected, tongues gently swiping each other’s lips.

“Mmm,” Harry nods, disentangling himself from Louis slowly and regretfully. “Your boys are waiting.”

“See us off?” Louis questions, fingers linking with Harry’s.

“Of course,” Harry answers, pressing a sweet kiss to the corner of Louis’s mouth.

✧

An hour later, all of their things are packed away inside the van and the four boys stand in a circle facing one another, all of them scared to break the silence and say goodbye, especially Harry and Louis. Harry kicks at the dirt, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for someone to say something because he steadfastly refuses to be the one who makes them all meet reality. That this is the last time he sees these boys he’s grown so fond of, the last time he’ll get to see Louis.

Beside Harry, Zayn looks at his watch and then back at Harry sadly. “If we don’t leave now, we’ll never make it before nightfall.” 

Harry swallows harshly, nodding his head. “Yeah,” he says, sounding throaty. Zayn grabs his hand and shakes it.

“It was really nice chillin’ with you. I’ll recommend this place to everyone I know,” he says. He comes closer to Harry and pulls him in for a hug, lowering his voice, “If he doesn’t say it, I want you to know Louis is really gonna miss you.”

Niall bounces, always bouncing on his toes, really, over to them. “You’ve been a great host, Harry Styles. Legend. We’ll write a song about you, or something.” He titters, taking Harry away from Zayn so he can hug him himself. When they part, Zayn and Niall leave Harry and Louis alone, walking around the side of the van.

Louis steps up to Harry, and Harry instantly reacts by wrapping his arms around Louis’ frame. Louis runs his fingers through Harry’s hair. In his arms, Harry feels so sure this isn’t the end, this couldn’t be. The rest of the world has fallen away, leaving only them and Harry has all the time in the world to learn everything about Louis, give Louis equal amounts of himself, too. But it is the end and this is where they part ways.

“Don’t forget me when you’re big and famous,” Harry murmurs against Louis’ forehead.

“Never,” Louis responds. They hold each other closely for a little while, just sharing space together, biding their time until what is gonna happen will happen. Maybe, Harry starts to think, as long as they’re touching, time is frozen. He doesn’t let go, just in case.

“Will you write songs about me?” Harry asks, hoping banter will soften the blow.

“Yes. ‘The Boy with the Flowers.’ Already have it penned in my notebook,” Louis shoots back. 

Harry laughs, stuffing his face into the depression of the other man’s shoulder. Harry feels Louis’ thumb making circles at the base of his spine. “‘M gonna miss you so much. I’ve had more fun with you these past few days than I’ve had the past three years. I don’t even wanna go back to my real life without you now; how stupid is that? We barely know each other.”

“Me too, Curly, but hey,” Louis says with ardence, pulling Harry’s head up to make eye contact. He runs his hand down Harry’s cheek. “We’ll be okay, though. _You’ll_ be okay.”

Harry nods in Louis’s hands, even though he doesn’t feel like he will be. The sadness welling in his gut burns and spreads rapidly through his body; he’s sure any moment he’s going to open his mouth and it’ll pour out like lava between them, catching them aflame, bodies turned to ashes together.

The sad and empty feeling of knowing what could be, what they could be.

“I have something for you,” Harry says finally, affecting a happier voice. “I put it in the van already, but hold on.” He regretfully pulls away from Louis and opens the sliding van door. “Close your eyes,” he orders, hiding the gift behind his back as he walks back to Louis. He holds the box out to Louis, who is covering his eyes with his hands. “Okay, open.”

Louis removes his hands and his mouth drops before quickly pulling up in a smile. “Yorkshire Tea! How did you get this, Harry?” He takes the box out of Harry’s hands, opening it, probably to make sure what he’s seeing is real.

“I had it already,” Harry shrugs, trying not to smile too much. “It reminds me of home, you know, so I keep a box around. I don’t even drink it, I just like to have it, so I figure you would get more use out of it than I would.”

“Harry…” Louis says, voice soft and wistful. “this is lovely, thank you so much, but I can’t take this from you.”

“What, why not? It’s still good tea, I promise,” Harry says, heart pounding in his chest from nerves. Had he done something awful? Should he have not given it to Louis? Does it make him too emotional?

“No, no it’s not that,” Louis admonishes earnestly, trying to put the box back in Harry’s hands. “I can’t take this from you if it reminds you of home, too. I don’t wanna take it when it means something to you.”

Harry waves uselessly at him, keeping Louis from successfully settling it in his hands. “Stop, I promise it’s okay. Like I said, I don’t even drink it.”

Louis chews on his bottom lip, mulling it over. Then, he suggests, “Okay, how about this? I take the tea bags and you keep the box. That way, we both have what we want and… we both have something that reminds us of home... and each other?”

Harry gives him a watery smile, thinking it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever heard and he’s already emotional enough as it is. “Okay.”

Together, they replace the tea bags into plastic baggies. After, Harry holds the empty box in his hands, the only thing he has in his possessions that Louis feels a connection with as well. Louis is sitting inside the van, door still open with Harry standing outside of it, when Zayn puts the van in drive. Harry leans up into the van and they kiss one last time. Louis slides the door shut when Zayn starts driving away, leaving Harry in the dust, waving weakly.

✧

The next few weeks are dull as ever. Harry tries to make the most of it, tries to get back to his normal routine before Louis and Zayn and Niall, but now those few days with them are all he has to compare. He sits on his ass every day, waiting for customers, and he doesn’t understand how he spent the last three years content enough to be satisfied with the conditions of his life.

Miss Barbara comes by the week following Louis’ departure, the first company Harry’s had since. He wants to tell her everything, but he’s not sure where to start. How do you rationalize feeling so strongly about a person after just meeting them?

When Harry and Miss Barbara enter the garden, Harry realizes then he’s left the crate and scattered beer bottles in it.

“What’s this then?” Miss Barbara questions, bending over to pick up a stray bottle.

Harry bites his lip, nervous. “I met someone.”

“Ohh,” she responds knowingly, sitting down on the bench with a grunt. She pats the seat until Harry joins her side. “Distracted you, huh? I know the feeling,” she says, referring to Harry not cleaning out the garden.

Harry sighs, mournful. He wonders how can he explain it, what his relationship with Louis is. Or was. The metal bench feels cold now, cold unlike it was the last time he was here. “It’s over now, though.”

“Why is that?”

Harry shrugs beside her. “Distance, I guess. Time. I mean, we barely know each other. Not even a week, in fact. But… he made me feel so real, you know? Made everything feel so real. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“My husband asked me to marry him three days after we met,” she says, eyes glazing over in remembrance of old memories. “We got married the week after. 42 years, you know.”

Harry smiles fondly, heart swelling. Her features seem to go soft and lax beside Harry, and he wonders what memory she must be going back to.

She perks up visibly after a moment of silence. “Anyway, my point is… time is nothing. Your heart-- that’s how you measure life. It doesn’t matter how long you know a person, or where they’re from, or what gender they are, or how much money they have-- that’s all trivial. If someone makes you feel like life is worth living, even for a second, you trust your heart and go with your gut instinct.”

Harry looks down at his knees, fingering the hole in his jeans. She’s right, she is, but she’s also wrong. Harry does trust his heart, but there’s so many other factors in the way and it enrages him. He doesn’t want to start regretting his decision to stay, doesn’t want to feel foolish for making it. He trusted his heart then, didn’t he?

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry finally responds, sounding too loud outside of his quiet thoughts. “He’s gone now and I’m gonna be okay with it eventually.”

“Well, of course you’re going to be okay, sweetie,” she says kindly, a hand placing over his. “But the question is-- do you wanna be just ‘okay’?”

He thinks about what that means for a while.

✧

His bedroom makes him angry now. He walks in and the first thing he sees is the Yorkshire tea box, always in the corner of his eye no matter where he’s at, like there’s a permanent beam of light shining upon it. He wants to grab it and crush it and rip it apart until it’s nothing. He wants to light it on fire and watch it turn to ashes in his hands.

He wants to put it in a glass case and keep it away from the elements, away from harm.

A lot of the time now he spends at his desk is occupied by thoughts of what he would tell Louis if he could talk to him. He wouldn’t have much to say, honestly, but he imagines Louis would fill the silence with something that sparks interesting conversation. 

He makes up scenarios in his head, alternate universes that were born with every other decision Harry or Louis didn’t make in this universe. 

One where Louis and the boys never came to his motel at all and Harry doesn’t have to deal with this heartbreak (this is his least favorite). One where Louis stayed with him here, leaves his dreams behind and forms new ones with Harry. One where Harry said yes when Louis asked him to come along, whisked him away to their forever.

He thinks about taking up songwriting. Maybe he could write songs and when The Rogue lands a record deal and gets famous, Harry could find their fanmail address and mail them his songs. He thinks he could write great songs inspired by Louis, make up stories of all the things they could’ve been and all the things he wanted them to be.

And admittedly, Harry spends a great deal of time daydreaming about fucking Louis, fucking him in all the ways they didn’t get to. His mouth waters at the thought of Louis’s cock on his tongue, weighing heavy and sliding down his throat until it’s all he can taste. The thought of Louis eating him out, slow and ravenous, leaving Harry crying into the mattress for _moremoremore_ even when it’s all Louis can give. Getting the chance to be inside Louis, have Louis ride him and hold him down, leaving lasting bruises, and just use him.

He still feels sort of stupid sometimes, being so hung up on a boy he knew for a few days, but that’s what it’s like, right? It might be more than a crush, but that’s what happens. You meet someone, make a connection with them, and if things don’t pan out like you so desperately wish, you spend the rest of your days -- or however long -- imagining the ways they could work out, imagining what would happen if they did. He comforts himself with what Miss Barbara told him.

Trust your heart. Gut instincts are a naturally occurring survival mechanism. He wonders if he’s meant to survive without Louis.

✧

Jonny comes to see him. It’s welcome and needed, the company.

“Was someone here?” Jonny asks when they’re inside Harry’s room.

“No? Why?” Harry responds, thinking Jonny probably means more recently than Louis.

Jonny bends forward and picks up a t-shirt off the floor. “This isn’t yours.”

Harry kind of laughs at him. “How would you know?”

“Because I know your wardrobe enough to know what you would wear and you don’t listen to the Grateful Dead,” Jonny shoots back, throwing the t-shirt at Harry. He sits down on the bed and suddenly grows quite serious. “Besides, you’re acting strange and sad and distant, kind of like how I was when Olivia broke up with me.”

Harry joins Jonny on the bed, sitting quietly for a moment and thinks about what to say. There wasn’t a break up because they weren’t dating. It’s more so the lack of dating, the lack of a chance to even break up that’s getting Harry. All of the possibilities, the could’ve-beens, should’ve beens blowing out the window and evaporating in the air.

“You know when you have a passing moment with someone where you know you can do anything with that person? Even though you don’t know them, that just makes it more exciting because there’s so many possible outcomes to a life with them. When it’s over, all you have is fantasies and you spend weeks hung up on some made up person in your head, made up events from some made up life.”

Once Harry puts that all out in the open, he feels lighter, having been able to express what’s been weighing him down for weeks. He could move on now, probably.

“I think that’s what they call unrequited crushes,” Jonny says.

“Do you think I’m half-living?” Harry groans a moment later, throwing his body against the mattress.

“What?” Jonny chuckles. “What do you mean?”

“Do you think I’m half-living?” he grumbles in the pillow. He twists his head out so his following words will come out clearer. “Do you think I’m not living life to the fullest?”

“Yes,” Jonny answers honestly and too quickly for Harry’s comfort.

Harry groans again. “I made the wrong choice,” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

✧

Harry’s not sure what to do now. He knows he’s made a mistake, knows he made the wrong choice, but it’s too late to change anything. There’s nothing he can do to undo it. What’s done is done and Harry will have to live with that until he’s over it, over Louis. Surely he can get over a boy he hardly knew anyway.

Christ, he wishes he had a time machine.

He’s just about to start steadfastly recusing himself from thinking about Louis at all. He can’t let himself dwell on things that were never going to happen because they weren’t meant to be. All it does is cause him grief and misery. Whatever he felt with Louis was good and it was right and he will look back on it fondly, but he cannot lie around grieving his actions forever.

He’s going to do this, he’s going to get over it. He’s just about to start.

He is. Until it happens.

He thinks it might be a dream. He thinks he’s honestly still in bed, wrapped in a thin sheet, dreaming. Because it’s not possible, is it? It’s not possible that that stupid, clunky, ridiculous needs-to-be-compacted-immediately van is sitting outside his motel, exhaust fumes polluting the air around it. 

But there it is.

He basically launches outside, not sure what emotion is driving him. The front door opens and he waits to see Zayn to crawl out of the front seat, but instead, it’s Louis.

It’s Louis. Louis came back for him. His heart thrums to the beat of _LouisLouisLouis_.

“What are you _doing_ here?” Harry screams, baffled and overwrought with excitement, vaulting closer and closer to where Louis is. Everything is irradiated, glowing around his presence.

“I forgot something,” Louis answers simply.

Everything stops, the needle scratches on the spinning record once more.

Harry’s dumb, he’s so fucking stupid, how could he be so dumb? His heart sinks, drops out of his stomach and to the floor. He thinks he can actually see his heart melt into the gravel, red liquid spreading quickly across the ground, reaching Louis’ toes.

Louis’s forgotten something, he’s not back here for Harry at all. Harry wasted all that time, imagining being able to reunite with Louis, imagining Louis taking his hand and them flying off into the skies in some nice car à la Grease. All that did was set him up for this heartbreaking disappointment. The Louis of his dreams and fantasies is not the Louis of his reality.

“You came all the way back here because you _forgot_ something?” Harry questions, anger boiling inside him because this is not at all what he wanted to happen and he doesn’t care to hide it.

Louis tilts his head, squinting as if he’s curious. There’s a slight quirk to his mouth, but Harry doesn’t analyze it. “It’s... a very valuable something,” Louis says slowly. “It means a lot to me.”

“Okay,” Harry sighs, reaching into his back pocket where he keeps the masterkey, so he can get into the room Louis stayed in, rolling his eyes as he does so.

“It’s not in the room,” Louis says, quickly, hand outstretching to Harry in an effort to stop him.

Slowly it occurs to Harry and he wants to die, wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole where he can make a new home in a black hole. It’s the fucking t-shirt. “Is it in mine?”

Louis shakes his head. “No.”

Confused but not willing to press it further, Harry crosses his arms, momentarily wishing he was anywhere but here. “The… garden?” he guesses.

Louis shakes his head again.

“Look,” he starts harshly, “I’m not really in the mood for guessing games right now, so just tell me where stupid thing is or go get it yourself.”

Louis raises his eyebrows in shock, but he still looks amused. Despite Harry’s great disappointment, he still can’t stifle feeling so incredibly attracted to Louis. Fuck.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Harry,” Louis rolls his eyes, stomping one foot on the ground. “Stupid twat, you ruined this entire thing. I had it all planned out, what you would say and how you would react and you didn’t follow the script.” Harry is still confused, doesn’t get to respond before Louis relents again, sighing, “It’s you. I forgot you.”

“What,” Harry breathes, bewildered.

He steps even closer to Harry, invading his space and Harry instinctively moves back, unsure of what’s happening right now. Louis doesn’t look offended by Harry’s reaction. “Look, I know you said you can’t come with me, I know that. I’m not here to convince you to come back with me, but I realized I don’t wanna be anywhere unless I’m with you.”

Harry stays silent, but he moves closer to Louis, reaching out to one another in an embrace. Louis starts running his fingers through the curls at the base of Harry’s neck.

“I kept seeing things that reminded me of you and it just struck me over and over, I missed you like crazy. And I thought it was dumb, you know? How often do you meet someone that makes you feel like that, that head over heels kind of longing? We didn’t give it a proper shot because we knew we didn’t have the chance, but I want us to have the chance. I can’t get you out of my head, Harry.”

Harry’s heart sputters in his chest, feeling utterly overwhelmed. He drops his forehead to Louis’s. “I have the same problem.”

“And the thing is… I don’t want to get you out of my head,” Louis intones.

“Me either,” Harry shakes his head, their foreheads staying matted together. Maybe it could be this way forever now, Harry hopes. He wouldn’t mind, not with this view of Louis in front of him. 

“Can I kiss you now?” Louis asks, tongue swiping out between them, touching Harry’s bottom lip anyway.

Harry smiles, closes what little distance remains between their lips and licks into Louis’ mouth feverishly. It’s so good, it’s better than anything Harry could’ve ever imagined. 

“I’m coming with you,” Harry mumbles into Louis’ mouth.

“What?”

Harry pulls back, eyes locked with Louis’s. “When you get in that van and drive back to California, I’m coming with you.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks, and Harry is certain Louis doesn’t really wanna question it, doesn’t wanna give Harry the opportunity to change his mind again, but Harry nods firmly. He’s not making the same mistake twice. 

✧

It’s still daylight when Harry finally has everything he needs packed away in the van, Louis helping him graciously. He decides he doesn’t really need as many of his things to go to California, decides it’ll be good to have a fresh start, a new life in a new place, reinvented surroundings. For a brief moment, he thinks about dandelions, the bristles of its seeds floating through the sky and pollinating the earth.

It’ll be the second time he does this in his short life, but he’s positive this is the right one. This is gonna be the one he sticks with. Louis makes him feel sure of that.

Before leaving, Harry scrawls a note to Miss Barbara, pinning it to the garden gate. _I went with my gut. .x_

In the front seat of the van, just before Louis puts it in drive, Harry perks up. “Does Zayn know you took this?”

Louis makes a face. “Are you kidding? He threw the keys at my bloody face and told me to get my arse to Arizona.”

Harry just laughs, but love stirs in the pit of his belly, love he can feel radiating all the way from the other boys in California to Louis just by his side. He turns to face the motel as Louis backs out of the parking lot, watching the motel fade into the distance, turning tiny and then disappearing completely. It’s then he accepts that is now what his past is, and Louis, reaching over to squeeze Harry’s thigh with a firm hand, is his future.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: harrysighles / twitter: @barbmaitland


End file.
